Hidden
by DominaEcca
Summary: There isn't much time, but it's not spent alone. Perhaps it might even be long enough to save himself, at least, in part. A short one-shot based on historical cultural relations between Germany and Sweden.


Author's Note: This is a short piece about the very end of World War II. The reference is to German influence in Swedish culture. The symbol represents a familiar origin, a connection that binds them.

Warnings: non-explicit sexual themes (basically, it's a sex scene with almost no detail. The idea of sex is used as a metaphor for a union (and love).)

Enjoy!

* * *

A bullet couldn't kill him. Nor could a blade or bomb. But this could. They were like that.

He stood completely still as he watched the people of his country die, feeling as though he were trapped in some kind of hellish nightmare. He couldn't look away and yet, there was nothing he could do to stop any of it. There was no escape.

More detonations. More death and destruction. It was nothing he hadn't done to the others. Other nations, other capitals, some hundreds of miles away.

Another explosion. A red flag. His chest ached and burned as the city was torn asunder, yet he held still.

A gun couldn't kill him, but this could...

There were footsteps behind him. The list of who it could have been was short now. He found himself unconcerned with it.

Instead, his eyes were following demonic plumes of smoke that rose up into a grey sky. Sometimes there were flames. Mostly there were blasts. Blood painted bullets, dust filled the air.

God, the pain in his chest.

"There isn't much time."

It was hard to hear over the ringing in his ears from the last explosion. Still, he was able to recognize the voice he heard, and the jolting shock was enough to get him to turn.

A single step backwards, and he turned from the window, seeing a taller figure walking into the broken room. His light hair and skin seemed to bring him out of the darkness, which instead materialized around him in the form of a dark coat.

_"Sweden."_

Neutrality.

He thought the word bitterly, but in the end, it was all bitter. Every decision, every action…or the lack thereof.

"There is not much time." he said again, as though trying to speak clearer.

Normally, their eyes would have locked and he would have brought himself up to full height, but his chest hurt too badly. He honestly felt more like collapsing against the window.

What was pride worth here?

"I know." he eventually answered, his voice broken and dry.

The Swedish kingdom advanced on him until he was awkwardly close, though he still kept his hands folded behind his back in a proper manner. The musky scent of pine, and of cold water against ancient rocks reached him easily. He wanted to close his eyes and fade into such a pleasing smell, but he continued to look up into those hard eyes instead.

Germany had offered his friendship to him, and yet, he had rejected him. Sweden told him he smelt of war.

If it was possible, the wretched pain in his chest grew worse.

"Why have you come?" he snarled like a wounded animal; distrusting and made aggressive by pain and fear.

For a long time, the tall nation said nothing, only gazed at him. First, as though he were observing him, and then in a different way.

When Germany stopped recoiling from the northern nation's powerful stare, he realized his eyes were more open now, looking between his as if searching for something, or trying to communicate with him silently.

Another explosion shook the air around them harder than the angriest of thunder strikes. He wanted to just give in and collapse, and he might have, if he hadn't been seized so suddenly and so strongly. Apparently, Sweden was tired of waiting for him to decipher whatever message he was trying to convey.

"I will hide you." he told him, his eyes hardly moving as he spoke.

It took him a moment to recover from the shock of the distance between them vanishing, and to wince in pain at his iron grip.

Hide him? He didn't mean it literally. He couldn't. His neutrality prevented him from intervening in any direct way.

"Give yourself to me, in part, and I will hide you." his eyes moved up to the window as his the tight grip on his arms loosened, but remained firm and strangely inescapable. "Then, when it's over, when they leave, come back to me, and I will return what's yours."

A pact?

Germany's eyes fell to the floor with the weight of his offer. If it was exposed that he had even come here there would be hell to pay. It wasn't fair. Not to a nation that had declared neutrality and had managed to hold firm to the decision. It was honestly an impressive feat. He wouldn't reward it with the risk of an undeserved punishment.

Using nearly all of his strength to pull away, he faced the window again.

"Leave me." His words came out harsh, and he nearly cringed when they were echoed back at him by the hard, cold walls of the dim room.

Silence followed that. An absolutely unnerving silence, even beyond the window it was hellishly quiet. Why didn't that bastard go back to his beautiful country and let him face the shame his defeat alone?

That red flag in the distance…it wasn't the red of Germany. It was an eastern color of red. It wouldn't be long now.

The minutes dragged by agonizingly before there was a crisp, solid footstep in his direction. Sweden stood behind him, not touching, but close enough for him to feel the intensity that seemed to roll off of his figure in tangible waves. It completed his intimidating aura.

_"Tyskland."_ he muttered, his head turned to bring his mouth close to his ear. _"Deutschland._ Please."

His body betrayed him with a violent shutter that slid down the length of his spine. He would never forgive himself if his tears fell in front of the Nordic kingdom, so he took his time composing himself before speaking, and even then, he could only manage a low whisper.

"Too many have been harmed because of me," he told him like he didn't know, his head lowering and turning to the side though he didn't look at him. "I would not have you counted among them."

"There isn't much time." he told him again, blatantly ignoring his concern as he forced the German nation to face him once more. "I was required to deny you before, but this will only be known between us. This is an act of… friendship."

The last word caught as it was spoken aloud, and it was then that he finally realized what the northern kingdom had been trying to tell him silently for so long. This was about much more than friendship.

Sweden was breaking laws and violating treaties just to stand before him. He was threatening to bring the wrath of the Allies against his country simply for speaking to him. But his offer…his offer was nothing short of utter defiance. Treason. Yet, it explained why he was here.

It was because of something they were not supposed to feel. Something they were not allowed to feel. A thing which now swelled up and consumed him, bringing them together in a violent clash that reminded Germany of water against rock. Briefly, the imaginary roaring of the sea overpowered the thundering of artillery in his ears. Sweden's flesh was not as cold as he would have expected.

"You agree?" The tall kingdom asked, his eyes unwavering.

Germany swallowed audibly, but nodded. "Yes."

The decision thus made, they moved away from the window. No one could ever know about this, and he told himself no one would. This nightmare wasn't about to end, but for a moment, the broken room around them became some kind of sanctuary.

They kissed without reserve, German teeth meeting Swedish tongue, and hot mouths struggling to move and touch without ever losing contact. The kiss was rough, but that made it feel real. Sweden's body was as firm and solid as the wall behind him, though when his hands touched him again, they weren't grabbing him in a hard, bruising grip any longer. Instead, they moved over his body as though he intended to draw a map afterwards, memorizing his contours and moving in a steady manner. He could deal with that much. His hesitancy was in returning the touches. It wasn't until their lips parted for a moment that Sweden lifted his hands for him, and placed one on his chest and held one to his face closely.

They stared at each other, pausing momentarily. They were both aware of the same simple, yet terrifying fact: this could very well be the first and the last time they do this. The gunshots beyond the window grew louder.

With this knowledge fueling his movements, Germany moved his hand to hold the back of Sweden's neck, and pulled him into another intense kiss. He let his other hand move as it pleased while their lips moved against each other, harboring an intimate dance between their tongues. His breathing came harder, each inhalation heavily scented with that intoxicating musk known to belong only to the stoic nation. It made his knees pathetically weak.

A strong thigh pressed between his legs, helping to hold him up against the wall as well as to press their bodies closer. He removed Sweden's glasses quickly, setting them down on the nearby windowsill, though the ever-present worry that they would be caught flooded over him as he saw soldiers moving below them. His chest still pained him horribly and the fear didn't help.

The taller nation didn't seem to care for his fears, and roughly pressed him against the wall again, going for his throat to regain his attention fully. Had they not been worried about leaving evidence, he was certain he would have been bitten into mercilessly in a fit of passion, but he only received hard kisses and teasing brushes of teeth that would leave his skin glowing a soft red, but that would fade before anyone else saw. Still, it somehow successfully distracted him from the war that raged just outside.

The Swedish kingdom again seemed to be observing him though, kissing his throat and jaw in different places and gauging his reaction behind an emotionless face. Germany didn't have the power to try to hide from him behind his own stern expression. For his compliance, Sweden made a point to focus on places that got the most out of him. It was almost pleasurable, even though that word didn't belong in a wretched place like this.

In response to the kisses and the short, burning sweeps of a hot tongue against his neck, Germany pulled his hand through his hair roughly. He was intrigued with the way he could feel Sweden shiver at his touch. Yet, they had no time to continue learning and exploring each other's bodies. Sweden knew this, and he pulled back and righted himself, their eyes holding each other's gaze.

There wasn't much time. The shouting outside was drawing closer.

"I will only take what you give me," he told him; his voice was firm and steady, but Germany could see that his eyes had softened.

Despite everything, Germany thought that he had never been looked at with such tenderness. It awoke something in him as they pressed together again, and although everything he didn't give to the Swedish nation would be at risk, he had no intention of giving him everything. He had held so many corrupt ideals and unjust doctrines; he would never give Sweden those. No, if it was that he was no longer standing after the dust settled in Berlin, he would not leave the Swedish kingdom holding anything evil to remember him by.

So instead, as the taller nation loosened and discarded the clothing that got in their way, Germany prepared himself, carefully deciding what was worthy of preservation, and what was not.

"Are you ready?"

Sweden's deep voice soothed him as much as possible, but it was still hard to breathe when he nodded.

As a kindness, the Nordic kingdom began slowly, trying to prevent unnecessary pain as much as possible. It was touching, truly, but he was ready.

When their bond was finally fully breached, they clasped hands and Sweden prepared himself to accept what the man below him intended to give.

He waited until Sweden nodded, and then as their physical union commenced fully, it began. Germany offered himself to the taller nation, but not all of himself. With his body serving as the link through which he would conduct this exchange, the Germanic nation gave him only the elements of his culture that were worth saving. Nothing of hatred or feigned truths. But Germany held within himself much more than that. He held fantastic things, honorable things.

Their skin grew hot, their breathing coming harder. Compared to the awful, lonely aching he had suffered before, their union was utterly painless. Instead, he silently relished in the feeling of being held so close, of the warmth of another surrounding him. Briefly, he imagined that invisible field of warmth protecting him, sheltering him. Perhaps it was foolish to think of such things, but while Sweden's powerful arms surrounded him, he felt strangely safe.

This physical bonding was still mirroring their pact, however. The actual trade felt strange, and it made his head ache and his vision blur slightly, but when his eyes cleared and he looked at Sweden, he saw the stoic nation with a rare expression of understanding.

And yet, the only physical evidence of this trade was in their immediate actions. Once they parted, there would be nothing, and he knew it.

So, in a fit of desperation, fearing that he would never again have the chance to tell him the truth, Germany pulled him closer, and between hard breaths, whispered his love.

Sweden's movements ceased completely.

Germany instantly regretted what he had confessed. He began to try to think of a way to escape his own words, but then Sweden's lips were upon his again.

It was a soft, sweet kiss. A lover's kiss.

He loved him back. It was why he was here, it was why he had risked everything to come to him. He didn't have to say it, and when they looked at each other again, Germany was assured of this truth.

Their union didn't last long, though for a blessed moment it seemed to be the only thing that existed. Sweden's pale flesh and hair seemed to glow softly in the dim room, and somehow even that small bit of light felt like it could have blinded him. it was heavenly, even in a world that had so quickly gone to hell.

When it was over, when the trade had been completed and their panting bodies stilled, Germany let out a weak breath. And that was it. He had given him everything he wished to protect, everything Sweden would hide

All these things that Sweden now harbored were intangible, seemingly unreal, though they would be there as long as he decided to keep them. in spite of this, Germany found he couldn't help but desire some small bit of proof. It was a stupid thing to wish for, since it would only endanger their already perilous agreement, but the want was there all the same.

He stared at the other's back as he finished redressing, and when Sweden turned to him, he apparently saw exactly what he had intended to hide.

"I cannot give you what you'd ask," he told him, walking closer again.

He was unable to hold his gaze, though those eyes were still gentle. "I know."

The flaxen kingdom seemed to be debating with himself for a moment, and then his hand slipped into a breast pocket that hid inside his jacket. "But, I can show you something,"

He withdrew something small and metallic, but kept it hidden in a closed hand for a moment longer.

"No one else has seen this symbol. For centuries, it has only existed to me. Now, I will show it to you, so that you can know it." he said slowly, as if choosing each of his words carefully. "It can be something of mine that I give to you,"

Germany nodded once, and then he was shown the symbol.

He might have smiled. Somehow, it seemed almost familiar. In a dreamlike way.

By this point, he had thought himself sick of symbols; they were tokens of ideas that could be easily twisted and changed, but this was different. This expressed something old, far older than he could have expected, and this symbol now represented what was between them. It was something no one else would ever see, something only the two of them now knew, making *become* their pact. And better than any physical object, this could never be taken away because he knew it now. No one else could take from him what they themselves didn't know, what they themselves couldn't see.

Another volley of artillery fire shook the room, but he almost didn't notice. A bit of grey, ghostly dust fell from the ceiling. Almost.

Sweden placed the object safely back in his pocket, and they drew each other in once more. There wasn't much time, but there was time enough for a kiss. A single, profound kiss that expressed more of themselves to each other than either had anticipated. They didn't know what would happen, but they had something to hope for, and even when the tall man departed, his coat helping him to blend back in to the growing shadows, he no longer felt alone.

When he closed his eyes, he saw the secret symbol, and it gave him comfort. A part of him now rested within the heart of one who had neither fought against him nor raised arms to aid him. He was connected to that one now, and even when the smoke grew thicker and the smell of battle became stronger, he swore he was able to catch the faintest scent of pine trees, ancient ones, perhaps overlooking a place where the cold, northern water crashed against ancient, Swedish rocks.


End file.
